


these lines repeat themselves

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean remembers the date. It's significant, after all.</p><p>You don't forget the day you were raised from Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these lines repeat themselves

Dean remembers the date. It's significant, after all.

You don't forget the day you were raised from Hell.

He doesn't know why it feels different, this time around. The past few years have been a blur, and he rarely had the chance to do more but give a fleeting thought to the date, if he even noticed it at all. This year, however, with no threat looming over humanity, over them, the date rolls by and Dean finds he has nothing to do.

The bunker feels empty. Kevin is there, and so is Sam, but nothing is  _happening_. The day feels meaningful yet they're both doing what they usually do, routine, and Dean doesn't know how to say that they should do something special without balking at their potential questions.

He wishes he hadn't heard the date on the radio this morning as he'd gone to get eggs for breakfast. He doesn't even know what the fuck he wants to do, just that being idle feels off, just that something is missing, and he wishes, wishes, wants --  _something_.

But whatever, this day is really no different than any other, and he's just hungry or something.

He doesn't think about Cas, or how long it's been since he's heard from him. Not even when he's holding his phone in his hands and wondering if calling his number will work. Does he still have that phone? It's probably lost, broken, out of battery, out of service. 

Either way he's being stupid, today isn't  _special_ , Cas probably doesn't even remember the day and probably doesn't even care, if he's still alive. Though Dean thinks, somehow, that he'd know if he wasn't. Something happened up there that night, but that something wasn't Castiel dying. Maybe that's wishful thinking. Maybe he wouldn't even notice, but he can't really stand the thought of Cas being dead right now, so he just assumes he's alive.

Which begs the question of where the fuck is he, and why hasn't he gotten in touch yet? He knows where they are, knows their number. Zilch, nada, radio silence from Cas, again, like always, and he's stopping this line of thought now because he doesn't want to be angry.

Not today.

Sam talks to him sometime in the afternoon and Dean grunts at him from his spot on the couch, sprawled in front of the television but not really watching. 

"Dude, what's with you today?" Sam asks, and Dean just clenches his jaw and snaps.

"Nothing, what's with  _you?"_  

It's not very clever, but Sam leaves him alone. Dean doesn't like that he's making it obvious that something's on his mind. Angry and irritated with himself, with how he wants something that he brushes the edges of but refuses to fully acknowledge, he thinks of praying to Cas.

He quickly dismisses the idea when it occurs to him that maybe Cas is up there, in Heaven. Home, now.

He goes back to not watching television, and tells himself he's not brooding, he's not angry, he's not sad, he's not worried. His mind keeps wandering to everything that happened since that day, between them; saving each other's lives countless of times, the fights, the betrayals, everything, and how even after all this he -- 

The emptiness he feels has nothing to do with Cas' absence, or so Dean tries to tell himself.

He doesn't  _miss_  him.

* * *

 

He gets a text from an unknown number, sometime in the evening.

_dean?_

He sits up straight so fast he almost drops his phone. His heart starts beating loud in his ears. Something floods in his vein that feels too good to be right.

_cas_

That's all he texts back at first, no interrogation mark, because there's no question about it. He adds, right after:

_where are you?_

Dean keeps the phone in his hands, but there's no response. He can't fucking take it. He keeps sitting back against the couch, then leaning forward, running a hand over his face. The television is still on but he hears it through thick walls, muted and distant. 

Why is Cas texting him if he's got nothing to say? What if he texted him and then something happened to him? What if it wasn't Cas at all and he just so fucking badly wanted it to be?

He waits 30 infinitely long minutes, and then texts again.

_just say youre alright man_

The response comes seconds later this time.

_I'm fine._

Before Dean can respond, his phone vibrates in his hand.

_It's the 18th._

Fuck. Yeah, it's the 18th, he's been thinking about it all fucking day in trying not to, feeling like an idiot, feeling lonely even though he wasn't alone.

Feeling lonely because Cas wan't there.

 _i know_ , he texts back with trembling fingers. 

 _five years lets apply for pre nup_ , he texts hurriedly after, because jokes make this better, jokes make this not serious. Make this not mean as much.

 _what?_  Cas texts, and Dean rolls his eyes and kinda wishes he could see his little head tilt and frown at another reference going over his head.

 _are you nearby?_  he texts instead, and waits another 10 minutes. Cas is hiding somewhere, alone, and he remembers the date. He doesn't like the thought that he isn't  _here_ right now. 

_cas, buddy. c'mon_

_  
_He drops his face into his hands for a second because he's feeling on edge and a little needy. He takes deep breaths and tells himself it's fine to want someone around, even if they belong elsewhere, it's fine to want to hear from someone so badly it aches.

_yes, dean. I'm nearby_

Good. Good, Cas is nearby, and it's the 18th, and it's been years since this guy walked into his life and flipped it over completely. Years since he went from distrust and dislike to trust and like and even love in their own special brand of it.

He wants him here, wants to see with his own eyes that Castiel is fine.

_come over._

_No. I can't_

_why not? tell me where you are_

Dean is sitting on the edge of the couch, his leg shaking up and down as he waits for a response. He thinks this is the most infuriating text conversation he's ever had, and he hasn't had many.

He doesn't have to wait long for the next message. It's an address.

* * *

 

Dean has his coat on before he's even done telling Sam he's going for a drive, and he's in such a frenzy, such a daze that he feels like he blinks and he's there, rolling up the street. He drives by the address he was given once, slowly -- it's an old house for sale, inhabited. He goes around the block to park his car and then walks back to the house, just in case.

The walk helps him keep his head clear as he palms his phone in his pocket, hunching his shoulders against the crisp chill of early fall. He doesn't know what to expect, not really, almost wants it to be a trap so he can feel less weird about sneaking away from home to see someone on a date relevant and important to only both of them.

It sounds weird as shit. It  _is_  weird as shit.

The house is dark but he can see the signs of someone breaking in. The lock looks intact but is broken, and he gently pushes the door open. It squeaks, and he slips inside. There's a sound from the floor above, and his hand falls to his gun, a habit.

"Cas?" He says, and the sounds stop abruptly. Then there are foot steps, creaks down the stairs, and a shadow coming down the steps. There are no lights, only the moon and the street lamps pouring in from the dirty old windows. There's dust everywhere.

Dean stands still until the silhouette walks past the window, and although his trenchcoat and tie are gone, yeah, it's Cas, definitely, and in two wide steps he has him in his arms, holding him to his chest.

"Fuck, Cas, where have you been?" He says into his shoulder, and before he can pull away there are arms around him, too, warm and strong.

"Around," he says, and Dean could laugh because that's a Cas answer if anything, and he can feel his breath against his neck as he inhales.

He pulls away, his hands coming to Castiel's shoulders.

"How long have you been here? Why didn't you tell us?" He asks, but it's not accusatory, no, but definitely curious and concerned.

"I didn't want to lead them to you," Cas says, and Dean doesn't know why they're talking in whispers. Maybe it's the gloom, maybe it's the moonlight coming from the window, maybe it's the way he's still standing so close even after breaking the hug. "The angels, Dean. They're after me."

He looks tired, but his grip is strong as his hand stays tight around Dean's arm. He's relieved to see Cas whole, even though he looks worn and a little lost, a little grimy.

"Well the bunker's safe," he offers with a little grin, "And the showers are  _awesome_."

"Maybe," Cas says, and Dean knows that means  _no._  He tries not to be stung.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean says, and Cas looks at him and then there are hands on his face and lips on his own, hot and hard and pressing and he can't talk anymore because heat fills him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.

He doesn't know how but he ends up pressed against the wall, his hand fisted into Castiel's hair and their lips parted, tongues meeting, and he's fucking groaning into it and that dumb feeling of emptiness is gone, just like that.

Castiel's hands slide up his shirt, feel his stomach and chest. They're so warm and feel bigger like that, skin to skin, unseen under his clothes, and Cas breaks the kiss to pant against his lips, growl his name as his hips press Dean's ass up against the wall. The friction, even through their pants, is better than anything Dean's felt in a really long time (including his own fucking hand) and he gives himself to it entirely.

Cas is either surprisingly good at this or knows exactly what Dean wants and likes. Either way he feels like he's fucking losing it and they're still both fully clothed, Castiel's lips and tongues are on his neck, wet and warm and heated and he's burning up but his hips are definitely bucking off the wall to roll against Castiel's.

"Dean," Cas breathes, hot against his lips before claiming them again. Dean doesn't know what he wants to do with his hands more, curl his fingers into Cas' dark hair or tug his clothes off of him or slide them into his pants at his back or just  _hold on_ _for dear life_ , so he does all of that, one after the other, letting out low sounds against Cas' mouth.

"Cas," he says, once, and Cas holds his gaze for a while until Dean feels like he's going to explode so he squeezes his eyes shut.

When he comes it's like years of tension unravelling. It's like a punch in the gut and he can't breathe as his vision blanks and he comes in his pants with a hand curled into Cas' hair and the other grasping his arm, Cas' name on his lips.

Castiel ruts against him for another minute before following, stifling a cry against Dean's neck, and  _fuck, where did that even come from_ , he thinks, followed by  _it was a long time coming_  and  _who the fuck cares, that was amazing_.

He's still panting when Castiel comes down from his orgasm and kisses his neck once, soft and delicate. Dean lets out a breath that's half a laugh and half a sob, he doesn't really know right now because he's feeling a lot of things, and Cas' hands are leaving his skin and sliding out of his shirt.

"Um," Dean says, and Cas noses at his cheek. 

"I might need a shower after all. Take me home?" Cas says, and they're the best words Dean has heard in a long time.

* * *

 

Back at the bunker, Dean gets a little distracted showing Cas how to work the showers. They save time by taking one together, long and heated in more ways than one, and that night Cas curls up in his bed with him.

He doesn't even question it, or freak out about it, because honestly this feels right, and good, and Cas is safer in the bunker than out there alone, and after everything they've been through this is just the next step. Cas is family, and if he can make him think of the bunker as  _home_ , then, well. Good.

Good.

Dean starts to think of september 18th as the day Cas stayed.


End file.
